Breaking Up is Hard

Breaking Up Is Hard
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

Note: I wrote this almost three years ago. Seems like yesterday.

Fiction is made up stuff. This tale is fiction. I’m serious, Mark. I made this up. . . .except the part where I called you a fool. That part is true. You were a damn fool.


As the floundering ship sank, I was pulled into the whirlpool.

I’m almost embarrassed I let it happen, and yet all things considered, I won’t complain about the turn of events. Life sometimes makes things happen that maybe ought to happen, and I don’t know that we have all that much say in the matter.

Normally, I would have saved a story of my love life for a night on the town with my best friend, Mark, instead of blabbing the whole thing to the fictional underworld, but under these particular circumstances there are advantages to confessing to an anonymous crowd.

It was a Friday, and I was wrapping things up in the office, pulling a few more documents to check over, writing my initials a few more times, and dodging two of the clerks who were working in tandem trying to tag me with a dog case. The phone rang and I hesitated, not really anxious to open another can of worms, but there was still thirty minutes to kill, and there was always the chance it was a personal call. I had no plans for the evening, and was hoping that would accidentally fix itself. Accidents happen.

“Steve Kahl,” I said, trying to sound busy, just in case.

“Hi, Steve,” she said. It was a sad sultry voice that sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “This is Karen.”

Six weeks ago, my best friend Mark broke off a long term relationship with Karen. I liked her – I always had – but Mark had a penchant for roving after young women, and as the lies got thicker and the excuses got lamer, I started advising him to stop being stupid, get it over with and break things off with Karen. I knew I should have minded my own business, but if you can’t meddle in your friend’s life, when are you ever going to get a chance?

“Are you busy?” she asked.

“No, I’m just wrapping things up.”

“I mean tonight. I really need someone to talk to.”

“Look, Karen, ” I said, proving I had some loyalty, “I don’t think that would be such a good idea. Mark is a close friend, and . . .”

“I know,” she said sorrowfully, “I don’t want to cause any trouble. It’s just that I’ve always considered you a pretty good friend myself, and I just thought maybe you could help me understand everything that’s happened.”

I know I should have said “no” and let her find another way to cope with my wayward friend’s poor taste. I could easily come up with a dozen reasons to keep myself from this denizen of trouble. But I’ve never been one to walk away from a hornet’s nest, especially when it had so much potential to blow up in my face, especially when it involved an attractive woman looking for a sympathetic shoulder. I’m not a good person, but I live a rich life.

I held my breath when I rang the doorbell. Footsteps preceded the shift of wood, and Karen stood in the doorway, demure and alluring, her eyes alight with mischief, and a barely audible “Hello, Steven,” on her lips.

When I had first met Karen nearly ten years before, she had been as thin as a wisp, strung out on reefer and Bowie. Time had served her well, as a few extra pounds helped her from the junkie look into something a tad more feminine. Dark eyes drew me into the apartment, and soft hips neatly captured in a jean skirt sat me down on a sofa. A drink appeared in my hand and a thick joint touched her red lips.

“I’m tired of trying to hold myself back.”

“That’s good,” I said weakly, wondering how far my moral obligations of friendship ran. Karen tossed her thick mane of dark brown hair into a unkempt mess around her pretty, round face.

“Mark treated me shitty,” she said carelessly. “We both know it.”

“He is who he is – you knew that – and he only did what is natural for someone like him. Look at his dad; like father, like son, they say.” I said, my eyes caught staring behind the top button of her white cotton blouse, into the deep cavern of cleavage.

“You’re his friend and I respect that, but I also know you did your best to make him treat me better.”

“You deserved better,” I said truthfully, somehow feeling I had fallen into a trap. I made no effort to free myself and she passed me the thick piece of weed. I took a deep drag, and watched the slow spread of her thighs, waiting for that first glimmer of panty. She stopped just shy, and stood up.

“Did you know he wouldn’t fuck me?” She swayed to the slow mambo of a soulful Santana song.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I think he told me every time you two had sex. You know Mark. He loved guy talk.” I blushed, remembering the intimacy I had witnessed by hearsay. “I know it’s a little twisted, but I really liked those particular stories. And I gathered the shop had closed when he never mentioned doing it with you anymore.”

“I couldn’t even get a rise out of him, toward the end. I guess the other girls we’re wearing him out.”

“He’s always been a bit of a fool.” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt, an emotion which was quickly washed away as Karen undid the top button of her blouse.

“Once I even dolled up real nice for him, playing the tramp because I was getting so goddam horny, and do know what he did? He looked up from his fishing magazine, rolled his eyes and told me he was tired. I thought I looked great.” Karen lifted her skirt and whirled her ass, a round bulb of creamy flesh covered in baby-blue lace, swirling before my eyes in a hypnotic circular motion.

“He told me. I smacked him upside the head when he told me that story.”

“Did you? I’m surprised he told you. He should have been ashamed. I guess he did tell you everything. Hell of a lot more than he ever told me.”

“I haven’t been able to get rid of the image since.”

“What image?”

“Of you in a white lace teddy with garters and stockings, lips dark and sensuous, eyes burning with a gleam of lust.”

“Steve.” She spoke low. “You’ve been thinking of me, dressed like that, ever since?”

“Yeah,” I told her with an embarrassed grin.

“Well . . .”

Karen took hold of her shirt front and ripped it apart, sending tiny white button flying across the room. Her breasts, round and full like two Florida oranges, jutted toward me, eagerly, almost menacing me with the sharp nubs of hard, dark nipples. I reached out my hand and gave her full left tit a squeeze. The fruit felt ripe, and I drew it into my hungry mouth. A glimmer of perspiration tasted salty as I suckled her warm bosom.

“I’ve been a fool,” she said between soft moans. I tossed her down on the sofa, and smiled.

“Yeah, I thought so,” I told her. I pulled her thin panties out from under her tight skirt. I pressed my tongue against her scarlet clit. She tasted of fire, swirling in moist desire.

“Forgive me,” she said in a dark voice.

I lapped the dark chasm of her cunt, kneeling before this delicious, beautiful woman, devouring her sensitive heart, so long ignored. I drowned a finger in the burning hole while I felt her release years of maddened passion. She screamed wildly, pulling my hair, pulling my face into her pussy, pulling me into her.

I sat back to admire my handiwork, her cunt pulsating still with the final gasps of her orgasm. Karen was a deliberate, thoughtful woman, and I had known I could trust her to enjoy herself. I undressed myself slowly as she studied me with her smoldering gaze. When I dropped my shorts to release my angered rod, she quickly sat up and took it into her lovely mouth.

Her lips rang the shaft and her tongue played a tune along the length. I had seen Karen for so many years as a friend – a woman of a friend – a woman I had best not consider, and seeing her this way, with my cock in her mouth made me wild. I wanted her to suck me, to know that I wanted her, to feel my power as I gave her back to herself. I wanted to ease her doubts and help her live.

I lay her back onto the sofa, and buried myself into the warm confines of her furry opening, pumping this vixen with all my soul. I withdrew and rolled her over so I could take her from behind and admire her round buttocks and long back, sweaty and capturing loose strands of her dark mane as she flailed her head from side to side. I put my arms around her to squeeze her tits, feel their loose sway as they rocked to my beat.

I lay myself down and drew her on top of me. Karen smiled in a spark of nasty delight as she guided my prick into her pussy and began to take the bouncing ride. I firmly grasped her ass to help sustain the raging pace of our fuck, and salivated as her titties bounced, the milky-white mounds taking their own pleasure from our congress. I looked into her dark eyes, so warm, so intelligent, so friendly, so full of desire and devotion and of love, and I lost my control and shot my passion deep inside of Karen.

My cock was still inside her as she kissed me, and we kissed and fucked until dawn.

The only thing I can’t figure out is how to tell Mark. He’s bound to find out, and the best thing would be for me to tell him. I just don’t know how. Breaking up is hard to do

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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